Kenji

         For a moment I stood still, pausing toward the light.  For that painstaking second, I listened to the footsteps that resounded near my hiding place; my whole body tensed.  The blood pounding in my ears frantically recapped my mind on the current situation: the possibility of being caught.  What would they say to me, role model and top student of Shinko Middle, my current Japanese middle school, sneaking out on a secret rendezvous with a Kouei Middle student, our neighboring academy renowned for troublemakers?
         There were the circumstances, my logically intact mind laid out, in which I had previously received a brief and enigmatic note, demanding me to meet this person at the steps of the subway station.  My favorite black barrette was missing, along with the book that I had been reading.  The accessory was one that I had unexpectedly purchased while on a date with my girlfriends, considering that I was not interested in such fashionable adornment.  It was cheap, but pretty in a simple comforting way, and comfortable in keeping my now shoulder-length hair away from my face.  The book was special though.  I had always adored reading.
         I speak both English and Japanese fluently, something accomplished by my American mother and my Japanese born father.  It is a trait I am honored, appreciative and proud to have acquired.  It had not been easy, growing up in two countries with completely different scenarios, people and cultures.  But I can call them my home and loved both dearly.  What I accomplished made me thankful of education, friendship and more than anything, my parents.
         The book was one I had purchased in the States, one of my favorite paperbacks.  A volume that I had enjoyed immensely, it came particularly close to my heart.  I was set on having it restored to its rightful owner, namely me.
         The fact that the slip of paper was signed K.S., which were the initials of my former-companion and ex-crony-in-crime, made the elusiveness mildly entertaining.  Who else could adroitly slip a note in my backpack at cram school?  At the same time it was also extremely irritating.  Why did I have to endure such a precarious escapade?
         Relaxing as the footsteps faded away, I surreptitiously started through the dimly shadowed hallway and toward the back door of the school.  I groped in the dark, desperate for the doorknob to a broom that was situated in the corridor on the way out.  Bingo.  Cautiously easing the door open, I hid my school shoes away and slid on my boots.  I closed the door and slumped suddenly, as if all this preparation and ultimate exploit had finally gotten to me.  Sitting there, squinting my eyes through the dark with the musty scent of old wood in the air, I started to peel open the seams of what was left of my memory with Kenji.  And after all those years, it had to be now.
         Kenji, my companion of the past, precursory advisor, confident, and source of awe.  He had been the center of adulation for me in my early years of elementary school, constantly causing together and skillfully talking back to teachers in that cynical and logical way of his.  He was witty and boorish, a young boy on top of the world with a weakness for almond chocolate.  And the only friend who I could talk to about my quivering uncertainty of the future, the euphoria of being able to understand mathematical equations, and the constant strain of grades and parents.
         When we would sit together and converse of what was on our minds, he would not laugh or criticize me for my ideas, just nod and be attentive to what I wanted to say.  He had this atmosphere about him that suggested wry humor and a fleeting concentration, older than an elementary school student, and yet still a child.  When he leant an ear, he would give you his full attention; make you feel as if you, and you alone, mattered.  It meant the world to me, who had become accustomed to being solitary and unacquainted with conveying my personal views and beliefs.  Most of the time we liked to relish our free time in our imaginations, spending hours on fictional adventures and other times we would confess our frustration on the hidebound ways of our rigid parents, or just wander about while eating his huge bars of chocolate.
         I had always leaned on him when I was the most distracted.  Going back and forth from my home in America to the suburbs of Japan, had my brain muddled.  He was always the one to reassure me that everything was going to turn out all right.  We claimed to be matured for our age, not above the nonsense of our pears, but exceeding the limited understanding of a “grown-up”.  We had been young and full of ourselves, as it is always when you make a precious friend.  Everything was fine as I juggled living in the States for a month, and then coming back to maintain my studies in Japan.
         Until one day, with a forgotten good bye, I decided to leave.

         The noon sun languidly shone down on me as my fear languished and my anxiety of being witnessed lulled.  Tons of torpid students left school early, and there was plenty of time till lunch ended and 5th period began.  Besides, I needed my stolen things back.  I confidently strode down the sidewalk and began my way to the entrance of the subway.
         Subways stations always reminded me of ideas.  They approach from afar, through a dark tunnel of other inconspicuous brainstorming, sometimes out of nowhere.  Just the way I would peer hesitantly at the oncoming headlights would always remind me of the situation I had faced long ago.  I was so eager to jump on the train, so eager to leave the station, ready for a new scenery, a new beginnning...  Ideas.  They would barge into your head and once you ensue in action, there is no turning back.  So similar to my departure.
         4th grade came and went with Kenji at my side and excelling grades.  And then one day, I departed to America in haste.  My parents had told me they had exceptionally good news and that I had earned a scholarship to an elementary school in the States.  A top-notch academy where thy guaranteed a superior education compared to any other schools, I could enter in the middle of term but with a condition that I would have to conclude elementary school there.  If I wanted, I could gain admittance to their junior high.  It was only in June with the subtle hum of spring celebration on the streets and 5th grade at last that I was faced with the decision, the choice.  I had not told Kenji, we still did not own email accounts then, and I did not have enough courage to verbally convey the news to him.  I did not want to desert him.  But I wanted to be in that school, where everything would be accepted and acknowledged.  I would not have to be ostracized because of my love for studies and would be surrounded by pears who sincerely understood me.  A place where I would belong.  Without Kenji.
         My resolve was to go.  I could not say a word because I knew it would ruin everything we had built; stories of .  To listen to my heart and for me to truly have what I had always sought after, I knew I must leave.  It was as if all the things I had spoken to Kenji and all the things we had aspired of were paradoxical.  I could not come back.  I was severely, indescribably sorry, but I could not return.  And  I chose to do so.
         When you are immersed in thought, you tend to forget your surroundings and your destination.  I had wandered from the entrance of the subway to a wide street, full of bleeping cars, laughing couples, and students out of school too early.  I was still ahead of the time that had been scribbled on the piece of paper.  Setting myself down on a nearby park bench, time elapsed by as I gazed up at the transparent clouds.
         Yet I resolved to come back.  With all those dreams of going to that junior high in the States, I had chosen to come to a middle school here.  Why?  Because of my Japanese, I reassured my mother.  I had completed most of the middle school studies in my short period of elementary school time.  Now, I pronounced convincingly, I must catch up on my Japanese.
Perhaps it was because of Kenji.
         I blinked away tears that had gathered on my eyelashes.  Rubbing my hands on my eyes I tried to wipe away the drops that hindered my vision.  It was time to see him again.
         Of course it had never been the same.  I did not possess the power to stop time and warp Kenji’s memory so that he did not have the recollection of my absence.  Life is never easy.
         When I finally returned to my beloved hometown I portended a change in the air.  There was an edge to his words and unabashed spite in his voice.  He carried a reticent air about him, a barrier I could not break through.  All I could do was to shy away from him.  I apologized repeatedly, with sincere anguish.  But our friendship sank like a stone.  What seemed just yesterday was already separated from me, a vast void intruding my way, hindering me from going back.  A numb ache of the heart was a constant admonition.
         If  it had not been for him I would have never managed to become who I am.  But to me, now fifteen years old, what was before seemed to be a foggy dream.  I did not see him or incline to meet him and explain.  I had assumed he would understand if I explained.  He refused to.  So it stayed, at the bottom of my heart, sewn into past memories and tucked away for four years.
         Until now: an unruly haired boy, tall and lanky, leaning on a wall in the cool shadow of the station.  Thick glasses frame a dark face; the uniforms of our schools making us stand out from the sparse crowds of people.  His eyes were closed.
         For him to open his eyes and see register the growth, who I had developed into, how much I had learned and the significant amount of fun I had when I saw my friends at school to talk and laugh and be myself with, would be scarring.  To me and to him.  I did not want him to see this altered me.  This me, with a reorganized agenda consisting of schedules and tests and books and school and friends and laughter and life.  Utterly without him.  I was bitterly, foolishly, so sorry.
         In the end, it was not out of spite that I turned and fled.  Not out of fear or cowardliness or hurt that I ran and kept running.  Even when I hard him call my name and felt him trying to catch up.  I could not and would not stop.  Sprinting in the direction of my school, my body felt drained and my mind vacuous.  It was the sensation of running too fast that urged my tears to flow; running away from something or somebody in such haste, with such a need to escape, that you leave yourself behind.
         Even though I knew he would catch me, like he always did when we were practicing sprinting in the school grounds the way I believed he would.

“Megumi?”
“Kenji.”

         More of a statement than a question.  He was the same old Kenji, and for a moment it was as if I had never left.  Our Japanese conversations were home to me.  And then he hesitated,
“Here’s your…stuff.”
         He tossed me a bag, which I dutifully looked into.  Barrette and book?  Check and check.  Good.  I was ready to go.  Though not yet.
“You probably can read all the English in that book in a second.  So-daro?”
         A sneer looked off place on his face.
“Kenji…I…I’m sorry.”
         I paused.  Words could not describe how regretful I felt.
“Then why did you come back?  Why are you talking to me?  Why do you even bother?”
         I did not want to hear that.  He knew how much I had wanted that scholarship.  Didn’t he know how much resolve it took me to leave?  Had I been wrong?  Had I been that untactful?
“Really Kenji, I’m…sorry.  Honto ni gomen.”

         Déjà vu.
         Five years ago, Kenji had misplaced one of my cherished rocks from a collection.  It had been a translucent gemstone that was designed to reflect light in a shape of an animal so that the shadow of it could be seen.  One that my grandfather had given to me when I was little.  Wanting to show it to his parents, he had borrowed it from my room without permission.  When he had told me he had lost it, I did not talk to him for a week.  But then, he had stopped by my house, his mother with him, to talk to my mother.  I was forced to see him. 
         He just stood there, watching my tear stained face.  And then he hung his head and uttered under his breath,
“Honto ni gomen.”
         I’m really sorry.  I had looked away, because it was the first time I had seen him apologize to anyone.  He had always been so arrogant.  And yet, there was something in the way he spoke that I knew he meant it this time. 

         Now this time it was me.  And he knew it.  There was a flicker in his eyes of recognition.  Now did he understand?
“Meg…”
“I didn’t want to say goodbye but I had to because I knew that it was the only chance for me to study there.  And I knew you would never let me go.  But you know how much you used to encourage me.  And then I noticed how much I missed here.  I never made a mistake.  I was happy over there.  But I wanted to come back, not only because of you,” he grinned sheepishly, “but no, I did want to see you again.  It was just that you wouldn’t listen to what I had to say and I tried and tried to tell you, over and over again that I was so sorry and I am…and I really really…and that’s why…you know…I came…yeah…”
         He smiled for the first time.  And I was so relieved I felt tears.
“You came back.  Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?”
         I glared at him through a smile,
“You never let me…”
“I was waiting for you.  You would know that.”
“Yeah right!  You stole my stuff and you made me come here.”
         His face clouded but he nodded.
“Yeah.  I wanted to talk to you.  I wanted to set things straight.  You were taking too much of your time.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I know.  Me too.”

         And then it didn’t matter that I was missing from school.  For a while all I had thought about had been school and academics and careers and the future.  But sometimes it just does not matter.  I knew the importance and what it would cost me.  So smiling and crying, we traded numbers and emails.  I had to hurry back, but I would make it.  There is always the need to choose and always the call for change.  But now, I felt as if I had all the time in the world.  And nothing else mattered the most.  Time, school, it did not matter for now.
         Now that I had catching up to do.
         With Kenji.